#but is it wrong to want some of that for myself as well? and sure‚ I do so too‚ to a limited degree. To A Very. Limited. Degree...

[hellsslibrary]

top!male!reader getting jealous of how close shidou is getting to my pretty hips king sae?

"Oh, come on, dear. Have you seen him? With that, even Cardi B will stand with him and say, "Fuck, yes, I'm definitely bi," you know?"

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : Don't fucking ask where I was. The main thing that I'm back, my men... Probably, lmao. But I will try. <3 That was hard to write, because... I will be too, Shidou, I will be too. It's not proofread, btw.

!!Warnings: top!dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Shidou, Shidou theoretically discussing Sae in different matters, light choking, unprepared sex, a little pain from that obviously, VERY MUCH of dirty talk, reader forces him to talk and talk, it's kinds angst because for me jealousy is not a fleeting feeling, but Shidou is not cheating or loves Sae, really, it's just reader there is slightly or not slightly insecure, hurt/comfort kinda, VERY strange Shidou's fantasies and very strange pet names from him.

"No, like seriously. Did you see it? I've never had this much fun playing a game, hamster!" Shidou giggles like a little kid as the TV shows a replay of their U-20 match. "You see that? We were in perfect sync! You see that? My goal was amazing!"

You just shake your head, keeping Shidou from falling off the couch in joy. The game was awesome, yeah, and you're glad he had fun and you finally got to see each other after a couple months of him being there.

"Yeah, it was good. You did great."

Ryusei just hums contentedly, finally calming down and laying his head on your lap, looking at the screen.

"Yeah, he even gave me his number. And we—"

"Wait, he what? He gave you his damn number?" you ask, interrupting him, trying to keep your voice more amazed than annoyed. It's just platonic, of course, platonic. Just as friends, yeah.

"Yeah. He hasn't responded to any of my messages, but at least he hasn't blocked me, so that's something..." He shrugs, and you nod. Yeah, Ryusei is just having fun. He just found someone who understands his style of play and doesn't think it's weird, doesn't try to limit him. It's normal. Totally normal.

...

Well, it was normal for a while.

One month later.

"Where have you been?" you ask, turning around to see the door opening.

"Oh, me and Sae were training! I talked him into training, can you believe it?"

"Yeah... It was cool. How did it go?"

Two months later.

"Sorry, I can't... Sae asked me on the walk."

"Sae called...?"

"I was surprised as hell myself, parrot! I never expected it!"

Three months later.

"He was looking at those seagulls in such a funny way. Like they were some kind of symbol of peace for him."

"Yeah..."

"Hey! He asked me to go for a walk along the seashore, I'll bring you a shell, do you want one?"

And so it went on for a few months. You tolerated it, really. He spent too much time with him, which was quite adequate. They were both athletes, unlike you. They had a common interest and... Well, they played perfectly together.

You didn't see anything wrong with it, because Shidou still paid attention to you, even if not as much as before. Until one evening.

He came home late again. Probably too late. You brushed your teeth while he took a shower, wondering what could have kept him so long.

"...Where were you, Ryu?" a question escapes your lips as he steps out of the shower, not bothering to cover himself as he wipes his locks.

"Oh, we were at the beach. And we were skinny dipping... Damn, you should have seen him..."

Shidou was still talking, but you couldn't hear him anymore. The word "naked" kept playing in your head. If they were skinny dipping like that, they could theoretically do other things, right? You couldn't know for sure.

"Did you... Like what you saw?"

"Of course! Who would look at Sae Itoshi and say he's not fucking hot?" Shidou chuckles, clapping you on the shoulder and walking into the bedroom.

Hot. Of course Sae is hot. That's the problem.

Your heart clenches like it's being clenched in an icy fist when you hear that word - hot. Not "handsome," not "attractive," but that scorching, obscene "hot." It rolls off your boyfriend's lips so easily, so casually, as if it were thrown casually at a random passerby, but you know it's not. It falls right into the center of you, burning a hole in the very confidence you've worked so hard to build, brick by brick.

This feeling. It's not a sudden fire, but a slow, smoldering burn that starts with a barely noticeable spark and gradually engulfs everything around it. At first it's just a fleeting sting, a slight doubt whispering in the back of your mind: "What if..." Then it grows, sending roots into every thought, into every memory. You remember his smile, addressed to that other one. You remember his laughter, caused by someone else's joke. Every touch now seems deceptive, every word - a lie.

Insecurity turns into a black sticky fog that covers everything around, distorting reality. You look in the mirror and see not the one you love, but only your shortcomings, magnified a thousand times. Wrinkles seem deeper, the body less perfect, the mind less sharp. Questions swarm in your head, from which there is no escape: "Am I good enough? Am I interesting enough? Why is he with me at all?"

In this shaky world, where you are your own enemy, every action of your partner is perceived as confirmation of your worst fears. A look that lingers on him a little longer than necessary becomes a betrayal. A compliment given to him is proof of your worthlessness. You look for signs, evidence, confirmation, and, as often happens, you find them where they are not.

You are suffocating from bitterness, from resentment, from the fear of losing. You want to scream, demand, accuse. You want to leave so as not to see how he looks at another. I want to hide, to not feel so insignificant. I want to wipe Sae off the face of the earth... Or maybe yourself.

But no. You're not some loser who's going to wallow in self-loathing. You're just going to show your boyfriend who he should really be clinging to.

And here we are.

"My little poppy seed bun, what are you—" he blurts out, but he's cut off by your push, and he winces in pain, clutching the pillow under his head with a whimper.

"Talk," you whisper, and he looks at you blankly, to which you just click your tongue. "Your fantasies about me."

"But— Oh, no, not, fuck, there, nooooot there..."

Ryusei groans hoarsely, clenching around your cock, which is hitting exactly the right spot aggressively, and his eyes close, tears and gods forming on his lashes. It's wonderful.

"Talk... Or I'll stop."

This seemed to invigorate him, because he involuntarily squeezed once more, as if wanting to suck you in even deeper and never let go. He exhaled, squeezing your shoulders, leaving light marks with his nails there.

"I... I often im-imagine that you would fuck me on the football field, you know? It's sooooo... Fucking aro-arousing to me. Or, hnnng..." he cuts off when your hand squeezes his neck and he swallows, feeling your fingers tighten their grip slightly. "I imagine that we are two pigeons and I become, uh, fat? You know, when they start making those sounds and swell up a little. And then for that you would— Ow! For what?"

"What the hell kind of fantasy is this?" you ask, looking at his thigh, where there was a light mark from your slap, and Shido laughs breathlessly.

"I'm kidding, I'm kiiiidding... Mmm, sometimes I im-imagine the two of us, like... You know, a forbidden, aggh, romance. Like, poor and rich... I like that power imbalance... Fuck!"

Ryusei clings to your arm as your hand tightens around his neck, though it doesn't cut off his oxygen supply. Your thrusts are slow, maybe too slow, but so fucking deep that it feels like he's going to have a bruise on his stomach tomorrow.

"Tell me I'm better. Go ahead."

"W-what? Better than who?" Ryusei tilts his head to the side, as much as your position allows, throwing one of his legs over your waist.

"Sae."

Shidou's eyes immediately widen when he hears that body and he laughs, though he immediately groans and tries to calm down once he feels that he's actually started moving on your cock and eventually he's just hiccupping on your cock. Literally.

"Are you jealous?" he asks between sharp breaths, smiling like the idiot he is right now.

"Yeah, you two are too close... You... Always talk about him so well and..." You feel tears forming in your eyes and Shidou immediately softens, grabbing your cheeks, trying to ignore your thrusts that absolutely didn't want to stop despite the delicate situation.

His fingers slide over your eyelashes, wiping away the moisture there and smearing it across your cheeks with a goofy smile. His pink eyes are now filled with an absolutely indescribable tenderness that rarely shows in him.

"I love you, dummy. I really do. I'll cut back on our contact if need be... He's fucking cool, but you? You're absolutely stunning, gorgeous princess dick."

And just like that, his lips are on yours. So loving, so gentle, so savoring. So fucking yours.

You both stop moving except for your tongues against each other until you pull away, your lungs running out of air.

"Are you calm now? Now fuck me properly. I haven't even started telling you a fantasy about me lying on a beach in the Maldives and then you show up, serial foot sniffer, and fuck me in them and then kidnap me and I give you twenty-eight kids and thirty-three cats and then—"

"Ryusei, what the actual fuck?"

[trust-is-a-dangerous-thing]

the start of the end - John Price x 141!Reader (Ghoap Cheater!AU)

Hey guys! Here's the first chapter of the concept I mentioned before about reader being cheated on by Simon and Johnny with the new secretary on base, so then reader goes and fucks Price---as always, if you want to read it on here then it's under the cut, but if you want to read it on Ao3 here is the link. Also let me know if y'all want me to start a tag list for this fic as well, I know one person asked to be tagged already. One more thing I wanted to go ahead and clear up just in case: there is nothing wrong with being soft or more feminine (I am very feminine myself), and I stand firmly in the category of- "blame the person who cheated not the person they cheated with (who may not have even known)" -HOWEVER reader is in a very bad headspace for a while in this fic, so they're basically attacking everything about the secretary that they can rather than blaming Simon and Johnny for cheating in the first place...which means that reader is criticizing a lot of things about the secretary that are seen as more "soft" and "feminine." This isn't indicative of my personal views, this is just me writing reader as someone going through an emotional hell and lashing out at whatever they can, while still trying to hang onto the last shreds of the relationship they've had for years---which is a flawed but very human reaction to have. I like writing complicated characters and people who make mistakes and people who are fucked up, if that bothers you then you probably shouldn't read my stuff lmao

Chapter One || The Start - 2.1k words

TW - Cheating (duh), toxic relationship stuff, afore mentioned personal attacks on secretary

You tried to ignore it at first. 

To be completely honest, you thought you were just going crazy. Being paranoid. You’d been dating both Simon and Johnny for three—almost four—years now but the “honeymoon phase” had never seemed to dwindle, so of course it was only natural that the irrational jealousy that kindled in your chest every time their attention got caught by someone other than you never seemed to dwindle either. Because that’s what it was: irrational. 

You’d been the last to enter the relationship—Johnny and Simon having dated each other for a while, long before you ever came around—and so you’d always had an underlying fear, an insecurity, that you didn’t really mean all that much to them. That while the foundation of their relationship was solid steel, forged in years of battle and blood and quiet moments after the storm, your relationship with them was built on little more than brittle wood. Easily broken, easily burnt out, easily cast aside. But that, too, was just paranoia, because Simon and Johnny would never. 

They wouldn’t. 

They loved you.

…

Her name was Penelope, you found out, but everyone called her “Penny” for short. Like a “lucky Penny,” you’d heard some of the guys on base say over drinks, singing her praises and fawning over her like she was fucking Princess Diana. Lucky Penny that seemed to catch both of your boyfriends’ attentions as soon as she transferred. She got a secretary position, apparently—working for one admiral or another, making sure that everyone’s files were organized and up-to-date, making sure everything went through the correct channels, making sure that nothing was ever out of place. 

She was sweet, bubbly, talkative—she had a compliment for everyone, bright eyes that never dulled, and a smile that lit up every room she walked into. Her skin was probably soft—her hair too—and you’d bet good money that she didn’t have a single scar on her body. You’d bet that she never woke up screaming in the middle of the night, half-paralyzed by the fear of missions gone wrong and weeks held hostage and far far too much blood on her hands. No, not pretty lucky Penny—because she was perfect. 

She was nothing like you…

…maybe that was the allure. 

Johnny was the first to start chatting her up, he was always the most social of your trio—always joking, always laughing, always looking to make new friends. That’s what it was, you told yourself, he was just making a new friend. Even when he stood close enough to her that all it would take was a nudge for them to be kissing, even when he started bringing her coffee every morning when they were both on base, even when he started going to her first after every mission, even when you heard him call her those sweet pet names he usually only reserved for you, even when you saw him brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with that dopey lovestruck look on his face. It was all just friendly, even if he never seemed to do those things with any of his other friends, even if he stopped doing those things for you. He was allowed to have friends, you told yourself—you weren’t one of those crazy people that threw a fit because their partner had friends they might be attracted to, you refused to be. So you let it slide.

Simon followed soon after, much to your dismay. He’d always been the least social of all of you, always preferring yours and Johnny’s company to anyone else’s, outright avoiding anyone that wasn’t on your team unless it was for an op. Even if you lost Johnny, you always thought that you’d at least still have Simon by your side, if only because he hated meeting new people. Except lucky Penny seemed to be an exception to that rule. Apparently there was just something about her that was so captivating that he was willing to ignore his own discomfort just to be around her. Simon was more discreet than Johnny—subtlety was never Johnny’s strong suit, even before all of this—but the signs were still there, imperceptible to everyone else but glaringly obvious to you. Like when he started joining Johnny in the mornings when he brought her coffee, when he started doing favors for Price and Gaz just so he had an excuse to swing by her desk, when he started looking for her in every room he walked into, when he started letting her touch him, when he started visiting her right before your missions, when you saw her kiss his cheek—so coy, so innocent, so fucking sweet—and he just let her. 

You thought you could ignore all of that as well, that if you just closed your eyes and plugged your ears to all the warning signs, if you kept telling yourself that you were just being paranoid and never called them on their shit, if you just kept feeding into the delusional fantasy that they weren’t clearly falling for someone else right in front of you…then you could keep them. Because pretty lucky Penny could flirt all she wanted, but it was still you that they came home to at the end of the night, it was still you that they invited into their bed, it was still you that they loved, it was you that they kept around. Eventually their interest in her would tucker out and she would be just another phase for them and you’d get them back, you knew it…you just had to be patient. Faithful. You just had to trust them. It would all be over soon. 

… 

Except it wasn’t. 

Except it got worse. 

One night you and Johnny were watching a movie, Simon had been busy with some paperwork so he hadn’t been able to join you. He’d been so busy, in fact, that when you texted him every now and then—making sure he was alright, asking him if he wanted you to come back and help, asking if he wanted you to bring him any food or tea or an energy drink—all you got was one word answers, two words if you were lucky, and his responses always came nearly half an hour after yours. Yes. No. Not hungry. 

After a while, you’d decided to just stop texting him, worried that you were being overbearing or annoying. But then you got a look at Johnny’s phone and saw him texting in a group chat, his smile bright and cheery, with two other people in it…Simon and Penny. And boy, was Simon a lot more chatty whenever one of Penny’s texts popped up, firing back two or three sentence replies in rapid time. You weren’t in that group chat, you didn’t even know that the two of them had her number, neither of them had told you about it. From what you could tell, they were all making plans to go out and get drinks together.

It was fine, though. 

It was also fine when she started joining your dinners together, just fucking peachy. After all, it wasn’t like it was a rule or anything that dinners were reserved for you three to have some time to yourselves—I mean, you thought it was more of an unspoken rule and also just plain common sense not to bother the people clearly secluded from everyone else for a reason, but apparently not. Just like it apparently wasn’t common sense for her to not start fucking groping and flirting with your boyfriends right in front of you but hey, who could fault pretty perfect Penny for being a bit ditzy, right? 

I mean it was probably just too much work for her to be beautiful and smart, because why do that when everyone seemed to eat out of her fucking hand no matter what she did.  Your boyfriends certainly didn’t seem to mind it, Simon acting like he didn’t notice her hand resting casually on his upper thigh—giving him a squeeze every now and then—and Johnny was fucking grinning, making suggestive jokes and egging her on as she touched almost every part of him but his cock. They didn’t even seem to notice you silently fuming on the other side of the table, gripping the table so hard that you were certain it would’ve cracked if it were made of anything other than steel. 

And fuck, were you just thrilled, when she started showing up to your movie nights—always coincidentally showing up right before you so she could settle into your spot between the two of them, already snuggled into one of their sides in the most revealing fucking pajamas you’d ever seen. The kind that dipped down between her breasts and just barely covered her ass, all silk and lace and pretty pink chiffon, and you could tell that she was wearing some kind of makeup too—just some lip gloss, blush, and mascara but it was still enough to set you off. Simon at least had the decency to pretend that he wasn’t staring at her tits, stealing quick glances every now and then when he thought you weren’t looking, but Johnny threw out all fucking pretense, he probably couldn’t tell you a damn thing about the movie he picked out because he was too fucking preoccupied with studying every dip and curve she possessed. He was practically drooling. 

But you gritted your teeth and clenched your shaking hands and said nothing, because you weren’t going to be the crazy bitch that went ballistic on their partners because they were imagining things—even though you knew, you knew, that you weren’t just being paranoid now, you fucking knew it. But still, you didn’t say anything that night…or the next…or the next. After a while, you got so sick of watching them eye-fuck each other right in front of you that you started leaving movie nights early, before you eventually stopped coming to them all together. Then you stopped showing up to your dinners together…then you stopped joining them at the bars…you stopped checking in on them as often, your texts became less frequent and shorter, you started sleeping in your own bed instead of one of theirs. 

You distanced yourself. 

And they didn’t even seem to notice. 

Nothing seemed to change in their lives, now that your presence was limited solely to ops, team get-togethers, a few run-ins every week, and the occasional bland text. They never asked what was wrong, they never brought up your absence, they made no effort to try and win back your affections…they did absolutely nothing. Well, that was a lie, they didn’t do absolutely nothing…they seemed to replace your presence with Penny’s. Now she was the one having movie nights with them, now she was the one having private dinners with them late at night, now she was the one they invited out to the bars, now she was the one they checked in on 24/7, now she was the one they kept fucking following around like a pair of lost puppies. 

It drove you insane. You felt hopeless, helpless—unable to change what felt like the inevitable. For weeks you alternated between fantasizing about murdering one, two, or all three of them and sobbing into your pillow, fighting the urge to find them and beg them to tell you what changed between the three of you, what would make them love you again, what did she have that you didn’t. What was so wrong with you that they’d do this to you? That they’d treat you like this? You wanted to know, desperately, what it was so you could fix it and things could go back to the way they were. You wanted them back. 

…you hadn’t lost them, though. They never broke up with you, not officially. They never sat you down and told you everything was over, they never gave you a call and said that they wanted to split up, they never sent you a text ending things—they hadn’t done any of that. So maybe they were spending all their time with pretty perfect Penny, but they were still yours. She couldn’t change that, only they could and they hadn’t, which had to mean something—right? That’s what you told yourself, clinging to that one technicality, that last shred of hope. You could still fix everything, you could still get them back, you could still make them love you again. You just had to be patient. Faithful. You just had to trust them.

It would all be fine. 

It would, you’d see. 

…

(It had to)

----------

Tag List - @night-girl-301

[straows]

Garden Injuries p.4

—In which you're pregnant with Sukuna's heir, but still can't help but be possessive over your garden. Despite Sukuna's orders of relaxtion.

<<part one, part two, part three

You could hardly walk right. Your feet hurt, breasts swollen, and back on fire. Whose idea was it let Sukuna get you pregnant again? Oh right. It was his.

Being reduced to a waddling mass of emotions was NOT on your to do list. However, you can’t find it in yourself to regret anything, especially not with your husband pressed against your back, big hands lifting your enormous baby bump, taking the weight off your spine and just holding it.

Sighing in relief, your head rested back against his shoulder, “your spawn is too damn heavy.”

Sukuna only grinned, all teeth and evil malice he’s so happy. “He will be the perfect heir.”

“Could it be a girl.” You rolled your eyes, before noticing a servant walking towards the garden.

“It couldn’t. Can’t. And won’t. I can feel him— he will be just as violent as m—“

Your hand was slapping over his mouth as you watched the servant trim some of the flowers. Incorrectly.

You gasp so loud one would think your water broken, “No! He’s ruining the garden- unhand me!” You were squirming to get out of his grip, flailing with all the pregnancy strength allowed you.

“Oh my god— woman! Cease this!” He grunted as you flailed and slapped the ever loving shit out of his face.

“You! Get over here. Now!” You yelled, as loud as your lungs would allow.

The servant froze mid trim, eyes wide and already feeling sweat drip from his hair line. Pregnancy has made you so much more… strict?

Walking over quickly, he stared at you with more fright in his eyes than Sukuna could ever induce. “Yes ma’am?”

“What the fuck are you doing to my children?” You snap, glaring down at him so hard you might pop a vessel.

“T-trimming, my lady.”

“You are doing it wrong. You are doing it without my permission. And once again, you did it wrong!” All the emotions bubbling up had you wanting to punch the man in the throat. The flower was going to die now.

Sukuna just watched, thoroughly amused by his feral wife. Feral of a plant, at that. God only knows what would happen if something happened to the actual baby.

“I am so sorry, my lady—“

Sukuna stared at the servant, before looking down at his very pregnant wife, and with his hand on your belly, he could feel the baby kick. Brows furrowing, “it’s time for you to sit down.”

“No! I need to show him how to do it properly.” You tried to pull away from Sukuna and grab the trimmers again, but he was immediately grabbing your wrist, in albeit gentle but firm grip.

“Absolutely not. Woman you’re going to sit down, drink some water and eat some fucking fruit.” Sukuna huffed, all 400 pounds of muscle and sass coming out as he grabbed the bottom of your thighs and lifted you. Sitting you on his forearm, the other arm wrapped around and under your bump, the third and fourth holding your bump.

“No- kuna! Put me down!” You pitched a fit until you tired yourself out, unwilling leaning back against Sukuna.

“No.”

“You’re annoying.” You sighed, head resting back against his shoulder, all tuckered out and ready to devour some grapes. “But you have to make sure they care for the garden properly Sukuna. And I mean properly.”

“Yes yes, I will care for the damn garden myself if I must.” Sukuna rolled his eyes for the nth time before sitting you down on your shared bed. Uraume already at your side as they handed you a bowl of red grapes.

“Thank you Uraume.” You smiled sweetly at them before absolutely destroying the grapes. Might as well be swallowing them whole.

“You are much nicer to them then you are to me woman.” Sukuna scoffed, stealing a grape from the bowl before sitting beside you.

“Mm that’s because they’re perfect.” You smiled, satisfied with the grapes and finally leaning back on the bed and relaxing.

“Ridiculous.” Sukuna shook his head with a grunt before laying down on his stomach next to you, four arms wrapped around your hips, the side of his face pressed against the bump. “He is already strong. Yes my little spawn, grow strong.” He whispered to the growing child. Feeling the little kicks under his face.

“I hope it’s a girl just to piss you off.”

“Spiteful woman.”

[shaunasrabbit]

Lesson Learned | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part XI.

Summary: School is in session and Joel's the teacher.

Tags: No use of y/n, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, some physical descriptions (has a bush because #bushnation, has hair that can be pulled, and is curvy if you squint), Joel and the reader are so #toxic lmao what's new, jealousy, angst, alcohol consumption, f!masturbation, cucking (technically, but not spiritually), mmf threesome except not really, dom!Joel, verbal degradation, autoerotic asphyxiation and ole fashioned choking, slapping, spanking, talking people through it (literally), dirty talk, light nipple play, use of good girl and other pet names, fingering, oral (f!receiving), pull out method, unprotected piv. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~6.8K

Read on AO3

A/N: Major shout out to my puppy for brainstorming with me (I love everything that's wrong with you and you are everything to meeee). I had a lot of fun with this. That's all. Also, yeah, that's Boyd Holbrook. Lightly proofread this myself, so my apologies for any typos. All on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

It feels good, you can admit that much. The roll of his hips, his fingers toying with your pebbled nipples, how kisses and sucks on your neck. It’s easy to slip away for a moment, to forget. You have to keep your eyes open, though. If you close them…well, you know what will happen. 

You can tell he’s close. His gasps are strangled like he’s restraining himself and his thrusts, shallow and gentle, are becoming sloppier by the second. The first time you fucked, he begged you to look in his eyes while he came. You obliged because why wouldn’t you? It’s no secret that you like being told what to do. 

Tugging on his hair, you pull his face from your neck and make him look at you. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are parted, tongue peeking out to swipe his bottom lip. You hold eye contact, knowing it’ll set him over the edge, and you just want him to come. By the time you and Adam returned from your run, it was 7 AM and then you spent hours fixing shit around Susan’s apartment. It’s been a long day. 

“Come for me,” you whisper. 

He nods. 

“But pull out.” 

He nods again. 

Pressing his forehead to yours, you hold eye contact with him as he lets out a final, shaky breath before pulling out. Warm spend coats the hair on your mound and he rests his twitching cock there, letting his own cum smear all over his shaft. You stroke the nape of his neck as he stares into your eyes. It’s intense. It always is with him afterwards. As always, he leans in and tries to kiss you, but you turn your head so his lips land on your cheek. Tapping his chest, you signal him to get off of you and he does. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you say, hoisting yourself out of bed. “Just make sure the door fully shuts behind you.” 

He sits up and stares at you as you walk towards the bathroom. “Wait,” he begins, “I just…don’t you want me to stay?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, your back to him, and drop the hand that was so close to the bathroom doorknob. Annoyance surges through you and you make yourself count to ten to calm down. You feel like a bitch, like a total and complete bitch. Spinning on your heels, you face him with his cum dripping down your legs. 

“If I wanted you to stay, I would ask you to stay.” Your voice is steady, low. Almost flat. When you see his face fall, you sigh. You add, “I slept like shit last night. I think I just need to be alone.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it,” he says, painting a smile on his face. Always so understanding. So patient. He stands up and puts his clothes on hastily while you lean against the doorframe, sticky and sleepy. “You were fucking amazing, by the way. You always are, but—”

“Goodnight, Miles,” you interject. 

Miles nods and gives you a meek smile, cheeks perfectly pink from his orgasm and maybe a hint of embarrassment. By the urgency in which he leaves your bedroom, you’d think he was being chased with a knife. Part of you feels bad, but mainly you’re just relieved to be alone. Alone by any means necessary. 

You wait to hear the front door slam shut before you get in the shower. Goosebumps erupt on your skin immediately from the frigid water. The shock to your system is a nice reset even though you feel like you’re torturing yourself for a few minutes. All you can manage is to stay in just long enough to wash away his touch and cum. You need to be a blank slate again. 

After toweling off, you head back into your bedroom. The streetlight outside of your window has been flickering for months. You’ve been hoping it’ll just fully go out, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t seem like you have any other option but to play the waiting game. It’ll go out eventually. It has to. 

Padding over to your dresser, you open the top drawer and reach for a black t-shirt. It’s worn, stretched out. Just how you like it. You pull it on, but you don’t even bother with underwear before you crawl into bed. Lying on your side, you curl into a ball and bunch up the fabric of the t-shirt, pressing it to your face. You inhale deeply and close your eyes. 

It’s been months. There’s no way his scent still lingers, but you swear you can smell his sweat, his soap, and that hint of cedar. Sometimes, even when you’re not wearing his shirt, you think you catch a trace of his aroma in your apartment. It’s like he’s a phantom, haunting you. It sure feels like it at night when you try to go to sleep. You see his graying curls, the lines by his eyes, and his brown jacket. You can hear him calling you sweetheart or baby or darlin’.

Mentally cursing yourself, you whine and let one of your hands slide between your thighs. The one thing you really try not to do is imagine his voice, that syrupy Southern accent that brings you to your knees—sometimes literally. When you make contact with your clit, you’re already wet. Just from imagining him. 

Pathetic, you hear him say. So fuckin’ embarrassing, baby. You soaked from just that?

Fervently, you start to draw small circles on your clit with your index and middle finger. Two fingers make it easier to imagine it’s him. That’s one thing you miss about him. The sheer size of him, from his broad shoulders to his thick thighs. And his cock, fuck. Maybe that’s what you miss the most. No, it’s the feeling of his arms around you. It could also be the feeling of his lips on yours or the way his rough hands feel on your soft cheek.

You groan, frustrated with the way you’re distracting yourself from the task at hand. This isn’t working. There’s an emptiness that you can’t fill. In your chest, in your cunt. It aches and you need to get rid of it. You have to be full in some way. 

Sliding down, you stuff three fingers into your soaked pussy. It’s not him, but it’ll do. You try to remember his pace, the way he curled his fingers just so. It comes back to you and before you know it, you’re gasping and moaning softly. 

I know this pussy. Know what she likes, what she needs.

I think she was fuckin’ made for me. What d’ya think, darlin’?

The hand that’s not working your cunt snakes up to your neck. You wrap your fingers around the column of your throat and squeeze. The pressure is divine, just what you need. A few more seconds of choking and fucking yourself and then you’re coming. It’s not an overwhelming orgasm by any means, but it’s your first one of the day. As your pussy spasms and you coat your own fingers, his name falls from your lips like a prayer, or maybe like you’re trying to summon a ghost, begging him to materialize in front of you.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

“You just fucked me,” you say incredulously. “You motherfucker.”

“What can I say? I got a good poker face.” Adam laughs as he brings his glass to his lips. He takes a sip and you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

Staring down at the Royal Flush, you shake your head. Adam kicks your ass every time you play poker, so this shouldn’t be a surprise, but you’ve been practicing with Susan when she’s feeling well enough; she usually wipes the floor with you, too. Her health has been getting worse, so you’ve been spending more time with her, helping out around the apartment. You can tell she feels guilty, always insisting on “paying you back” and “compensating you for your time.” Of course, you don’t allow it. After everything she’s done for you, particularly after your dad died, it’s the least you can do. To make her feel better, you tell her that playing a game of poker with you is payment enough. You’re determined to beat Adam one of these days.

Adam shakes his glass and breaks you out of your trance. “Time to go fetch my prize,” he says with a smirk. “My glass is empty.”

“Fine,” you groan. You start to stand up when you see Miles at the bar. Immediately, you sit your ass back down. “I’ll go in a minute.” 

With a raised brow, Adam turns his head to follow your line of sight. He scoffs. “Are you serious?” 

“What?” You shrug your shoulders. “I just don’t feel like talking to him tonight.”

“Trouble in paradise?” he teases, grabbing your glass and finishing it. 

This earns a laugh from you. “I’m not even close to being in paradise with him,” you say. Sighing, you lean your head back against the booth. “He likes me way more than I like him and it kind of makes me feel like an asshole.”

“You are kind of an asshole,” Adam declares with a smile. He’s tipsy for sure, all smiley and snarky. It’s endearing to you. Over the last few months, Adam’s become a genuine friend. “But if you’re not into him, then stop fucking him.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t want to.” You sigh. “And it’s weird because I don’t even get off. Like, he’s never made me come—”

“Okay, alright. Just gonna stop you right there.” Adam shakes his head, holding up a hand. “We should know less about each other.” 

“Okay,” you say, holding back a smile. As you think about Miles’ sitting on your bed, wondering why he can’t stay, you start to feel stomach bile rise in your throat. “What do you think, though? Am I a horrible cunt for fucking him when I know I don’t like him?” 

“Okay, you might be a little bit of an asshole, but you’re not a horrible cunt.” He smirks, but then he shrugs, looking much more serious than he did only a moment ago. “I do kinda feel bad for the kid.”

“Kid?” you ask with your eyebrows pulled tight. “He’s like…forty. He’s older than you are.”

“Yeah, but compared to Joel? He’s a kid.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, trying to sound angry, but you start laughing. 

Adam joins in and soon enough, you both are cackling like hyenas. It hits you then how buzzed you are because though Adam’s funny, he’s not that funny. You take a deep breath, managing to pull it together. Your eyes scan the bar for Miles, but he’s nowhere to be seen, so you finally get up. You order two shots of vodka that you know are going to taste like battery acid and two glasses of whiskey. The deal was that you buy one drink for Adam if you lose, but you’re feeling loose. A little nicer than normal.

When you turn around to head back to the booth, balancing two tiny shot glasses in one hand and pinching the whiskey glasses in the other, you see Miles sitting with Adam. You let out a dramatic sigh and close your eyes. Just be nice, you think to yourself. You know you’ve been kind of a dick to him—cold, detached. You know he doesn’t deserve to solely be a distraction, but that’s what he is to you. Deep down, he probably knows it. Miles smiles at you when you approach the table, his eyes lighting up like you’re made of magic. God, you are an asshole.

You place the drinks down and slide in next to Miles whose hand finds your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. Instinctively, your hand flinches, ready to push him off of you, but you let it linger and give him a tight smile. Although your eyes are locked on Miles, you can feel Adam staring at you. You think you might know what his face looks like. Amused with a hint of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with- you, if you had to guess. 

There’s this nagging feeling that another set of eyes is on you, too. For whatever reason, you lean into Miles’ touch, placing your hand on his over the table.

Joel knows you frequent the speakeasy, blowing off steam after a stressful run or a drink with Adam and some of the other smugglers you know. He’s not sure why he ended up here tonight, but he’s here, far enough away from you that it wouldn’t seem weird if you saw him, but close enough where he can watch you. Does he feel like a total creep? For sure. Absolutely. Joel can’t help himself, though. 

The last few months of avoiding you have been torturous. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you. Actually, he’s seen you quite a bit. You just don’t know it. Joel’s been in and out of your building. Abe, the radio operator, works out of his apartment on the floor above you. Since it’s been a while, a long while, without hearing from Tommy, Joel’s been going daily to see if there’s been any word from his brother on the radio. So far, nothing. The only thing that eases his disappointment and anxiety after another fruitless visit with Abe is the chance that he might see you in the hallway. You always look tired, bags under your eyes and your shoulders slumped. Have you been sleeping at all? Do you need help carrying that toolbox into your neighbor’s apartment? It looks heavy and your hands seem full. One time, he saw you crying or at least he thought you were crying. Your eyes were puffy and you were sniffly. Did someone hurt you? Are you okay?

It takes everything in him not to talk to you, not to touch you. Every time he thinks he might give in, he hears your voice crack as you say, It’s not good for me.

Tonight, you’re smiling and laughing with Adam. At one point, it looked like you were laughing so hard that you might cry. If it didn’t make his chest ache so much, Joel maybe would’ve smiled. Now that some guy has taken a seat at your table, Joe will definitely not be smiling. No, he’s sporting his usual scowl, fisting his glass so tight that his knuckles turn white. When you lean into whoever the fuck this guy is, he thinks he’s going to shatter the glass in his hand. 

Joel’s jaw starts to throb from the pressure of clenching it. He doesn’t know how long he sits there watching you flirt and casually touch a man that’s not him. A man that you clearly feel comfortable with. It feels like it’s been hours, but at most it’s been thirty minutes. Thirty agonizing minutes. Eyes trained on you, hundreds of questions float around Joel’s head, all making him angrier by the second.

The thought spiral slows before stopping altogether when you stand up, swaying a bit. The man who Joel wants to snap in half shoots up to steady you, hand low on your back, nearly touching your perfectly rounded ass. You lean down, whispering something to Adam before ruffling his hair. Then, you take Adam’s drink and finish the rest of it, just like Joel watched Adam do to yours earlier. This stranger shakes Adam’s hand before following you out of the bar like a lost puppy, hand snaking around your waist. When he kisses the top of your head as you exit, Joel shoots out of his seat.

Much to his dismay, he makes eye contact with Adam who raises his empty glass to Joel. He nods in response, patting Adam’s shoulder as he walks by. There’s not a thought in his head as he leaves the speakeasy. Not one single voice in his head tells him to stop when he starts walking towards your apartment. If anything, he’s justifying it. This guy could be taking advantage of you. Joel’s just going to check on you. He’s just making sure you’re okay. It’s fine. It’s fine that he’s following you home. 

When he gets to your front door, he hears it. Those sweet sounds you make. The whimpers, the gasps, the soft moans. He could make you louder. He knows it. Joel grabs the knob, but you locked the door. Of course you did. It’s fine, though. He takes his keys out of his pocket and finds the one marked with your initials. Carefully, he steps inside once he unlocks the door. You haven’t stopped making noise, so you must not have heard him. Joel’s going to check on you. Just to make sure you’re okay.

Miles’ lips are wrapped around your hard nipple as you sit on his lap, grinding on his bulge. One of his arms is wrapped around you, holding you tenderly with a light hand on your hip. In contrast, your movements are fast. You’re grinding on him hard. With your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, you look down at where he’s connected to you. You could suck harder, maybe bite me, you think, but you don’t say anything. There’s no need to critique him when it’s good enough. 

A floorboard creaks behind you. Miles doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. You notice immediately and turn your head to look behind you. Are you seeing correctly? Yeah, you had a good bit to drink, but you’re not wasted. Is that Joel? That’s definitely Joel. Joel is standing in the doorway to your bedroom, arms crossed and sporting his typical grimace. In one swift motion, you fly out of Miles’ lap, landing on your ass next to him on the bed. 

“What the fuck, Joel?!” you shout, eyes wild and full of fire. When Joel’s eyes trail down from your face to your breasts, you cross your arms to cover yourself as if he hasn’t seen you naked before. “Why are you—”

“You ain’t doin’ it right,” Joel says. You furrow your brows, confused as to what the fuck he’s talking about. When you realize he’s not addressing you, your lips part. He’s talking to Miles who looks like he’s frozen. “If y’want to get her wet, you’re not doin’ it right.”

“Excuse me?” Miles asks, standing up. His once erect cock has gone completely soft. You, on the other hand, are finally getting as wet as you should be by now. Just from hearing Joel’s delicious drawl.

Joel takes a step forward like he’s sizing him up. Miles is taller than him by an inch or two maybe, but Joel’s definitely wider than him. Face to face like this, they look like two animals ready to compete. Who has the brighter feathers? Or, rather, who has the bigger dick? Your body vibrates with excitement and uncertainty. 

“You gonna let me help you or d’ya wanna keep fumblin’ like a teenage boy?” Joel’s voice is flat, controlled, when he asks this. If you weren’t so turned on, you’d probably laugh. Good one, Joel, you think. 

Miles’ eyes dart to you, flickering to your covered cunt like he’s trying to see if Joel’s right. It’s not like you aren’t wet, but you’re not soaked. Not the way Joel gets you. Your face gets hot and you have a hard time looking at Miles, but you manage to. His blue eyes are locked on yours now, pleading almost. He’s asking you what to do and frankly, you have no idea what you should do, but you know what you want to do. You want Joel to help. You want Joel to fix it.

“She in control? Is that why you’re lookin��� at her?” Joel teases Miles. Finally, he turns to address you. “That’s a first, huh, baby?”

Baby. Fuck. You’re fucked. You know it.

That cruel edge to his voice, the one that makes you melt, is back. You’re not the only one that seems affected by it. When you glance down, to your surprise, Miles’ cock is hard again. If Joel’s noticed, and you suspect he has because he notices everything, he hasn’t said anything. No, he’s just staring at you like he’s seeing each facial feature of yours for the first time. The intensity of his stare is heavy, almost impossible to take, so you drop your arms and expose your nipples which harden immediately from the draft in the room. This works, of course. Joel turns his attention to your tits. Figures.

“Offer’s gonna expire soon,” Joel says, looking between the two of you. Both of you are topless, clad in only your underwear, and there’s indecision painted on your faces. “Gonna take me up on it or—”

“Yes,” you blurt out. Miles looks at you with wide eyes before slowly nodding. Okay. Game on. “Yeah. Let’s play. Show us how good of a teacher you are, Joel.” 

Joel’s jaw shifts and the darkness that you’ve missed so much flashes in his eyes. He takes a slow, daunting step forward, only inches from Miles’ face now. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Miles can actually hold Joel’s intense eye contact. If you were him, you’d be scared, but you know what to expect from Joel. Besides, even when he scares you, you fucking like it. You’ve got to be sick in the head. 

“First lesson: don’t let her call the shots,” Joel says. “You’re the boss. Act like it.” 

You raise an eyebrow and scoff. Is that what Joel thinks? Of course that’s what he thinks. It all starts flooding back to you—how he told Tess that you were his in what was practically their divorce, how you seemingly fold every time he wants you. Anger starts to bubble in your belly when Miles’ voice cuts through to you. 

“Lie on the bed,” he commands. It’s less steady than Joel’s, not quite a bark. You raise an eyebrow when Joel whispers something to him, but you don’t move. “I told you to lie down. Now.”

Admittedly, this is hard for you to take seriously. Miles doesn’t sound remotely confident and all you can think about is how you’d rather hear it from Joel. Still, you go along with it. Raising your hands in fake surrender, you walk towards the bed and lie down. The men follow behind you. Miles sits in front of you, resting a hand on your thigh. It’s gentle. What else is new? 

“How long did it take for her to open those pretty legs for you?” Joel asks, eyes taking you in. He looks downright hungry. 

“Uh, I don’t know. A week or so?” Miles answers. 

Was it that soon after you met? Well, you know what they say, gotta get under one guy to get over another. 

“Hm, surprised it didn’t take longer since you’re touchin’ her like you’re scared of her,” Joel grumbles. “Then again, she is a desperate slut.”

This gets to you. You sit up on your elbows and clench your thighs together, nearly wiggling forwards. Joel crouches down next to the bed and his knees crack as he does so. You don’t let yourself look at him. It’ll be too much, so you focus on Miles instead. He still seems nervous, but his pupils are blown with lust, cock twitching under his boxers. 

“See that squirming? Bet she’s gettin’ real wet just from me talkin’,” Joel rasps. “Go ahead. Spread her open. Enough’a that gentle shit.”

Miles takes this seriously, gripping your thighs and wrenching your legs open. Joel was right, a dark stripe has formed where your slick has gathered. Heat creeps up your neck and settles on your cheeks. Miles’ eyes widen and he swipes his thumb down from your clothed clit to your entrance. You push your hips into his touch and watch a smile tug on his lips. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you. 

“You gotta talk to her,” Joel instructs. 

Nodding, Miles loops his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulls them off with urgency. Pussy exposed to both Miles and Joel, you feel dirty. Downright filthy and fucked up. You’re enjoying this too much. 

“Oh my god,” Miles says, breathy and awestruck. His thumb rubs on the hair that covers your mound before grazing over your clit, making you twitch. “You’re so fucking wet. Is this all for me?”

No, you think. All for Joel.

Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you nod and pull your bottom lip between your teeth. For a second, you think you hear Joel scoff and you glance over at him. He’s staring at you with a lecherous intensity, making your pussy clench. A smirk toys on his lips as he stands up, nodding at Miles. 

“Let’s see how you eat that cunt,” he says. “Move over.”

Miles follows Joel’s instructions, scooting over and settling between your legs on his stomach. Joel sits next to him. Torturously close to you but not quite touching. You’re staring at Joel’s hands when Miles’ tongue flicks against your clit. It feels good, but it’s not quite enough. Joel purses his lips and sighs like Miles is a failing student. 

“Not like that,” he critiques. “Never gonna make her come like that. More pressure. Faster.”

A moan is drawn out of you when Miles takes Joel’s suggestion. Faster. More pressure. Miles is looking up at you with pride filled eyes. Maybe you’re thinking with your clit—which feels fucking good—but you actually find him sexy right now. You thread your fingers in his dusty blonde hair, grinding your cunt against his face. 

“Better, sweetheart?” Joel asks, leaning forward into your line of sight. You can feel his breath against your thigh as he observes the way Miles’ tongue works your clit. Nodding, you whimper some sort of affirmation. “C’mon now. Words. Know he’s not making you feel that good.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s better. Good.”

You can feel Miles smile against you, satisfied with just making you feel good. It’s endearing. Almost. It’d be better if you were getting any closer to orgasming, but you’re not. 

“Not good enough.” Joel scoffs. You’re certain of it this time. “He ever even make you come before?”

Miles pulls back, lips swollen and wet from your juices. He’s waiting for you to answer. If you’re honest, you’re going to break his heart. If you lie, Joel’s going to call you out on it. A rock and a hard place. 

“Fuck off, Joel,” you hiss, mentally kicking yourself. Is that the best you could come up with? 

“Seriously?” Miles asks, brows pulled tight. “Never?”

You open your mouth to soothe him, but you squeak as Miles shoves two fingers into your cunt without warning. The sudden pressure and roughness of it makes your head fall back as you moan. He sets a quick pace and you start to fuck yourself on his fingers, finally getting what you want. A firm hand squeezed your thigh, digging into your soft flesh. For a moment, you think it’s Joel’s. Your cunt gushing around Miles’ fingers at the thought of Joel’s touch. 

“There ya go,” Joel says. “All she had to do was piss you off. She’s real good at that.” 

“Maybe that’s all she’s good at.” Miles’ voice wavers. 

When he finishes his sentence, he buries his fingers deep inside of you, pushing past where he should. It fucking burns, and you love it. You let out a cry, leaning forward and fisting the sheets. Finally, you let yourself look at Joel. It’s a mistake. Immediately, you realize it’s a mistake. His stare with those blown out pupils makes you feel lightheaded. It’s his fingers you want inside of you. It’s his chest you want to see so badly that you consider ripping off his flannel, letting all of the buttons fly haphazardly across the room. You have to look away, so you do, your eyes falling back on Miles as you bounce on his fingers. 

It comes to you slowly, but the pressure does build in your lower tummy and you’re clamping around Miles’ fingers. A low groan comes out of him as he realizes that he might actually make you come. You shut your eyes tight, unable to look at either of the men. 

“Stop,” Joel commands. Miles does. Of course he does. You whine, opening your pleading eyes to look at him. “You’re gonna wanna feel her around your cock. Trust me.” 

“Fuck you, Joel,” you say, exasperated. 

“I’m not fucking you. He is.” Joel nods at Miles before moving to settle next to you, leaning back against your pillows and resting a hand on the soft pudge of his tummy. “Let’s see if you can do this right.” 

Miles’ jaw shifts, clearly irked by Joel’s condescension, while he fumbles to get his boxers off. You shoot Joel an amused look. It’s subtle, but you think Joel returns it, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Once his boxers are off, Miles positions his hard cock at your entrance, looking up at you for consent. You nod and he eases into you slowly, your walls fluttering around him. It’s already difficult not to think about Joel while Miles is fucking you, but having Joel inches away from you makes it damn near impossible. 

Bottoming out, Miles just sits there, letting you feel him deep. You’re frustrated, just needing to get fucked. With a whine, you goad him on, “Miles, you’re not going to make me come like that. Fuck me.” 

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, Miles looks hurt. Then, the hurt turns into something dark. Not anger, but determination. You stare back at him, raising an eyebrow. You almost forget Joel’s in the room until he chuckles. 

“You gonna let her talk to you like that?” Joel asks. 

“No,” Miles says, glancing at Joel before looking back down at you, dick still throbbing inside of you. 

“Then maybe you should do somethin’ about it,” Joel says, laying on his side to face you. “Smack her around. Teach ‘er how to be a good girl.”

Miles furrows his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “I’m not gonna hit her, man.” 

“No, no,” you say desperately, clawing at Miles’ back and pulling him down to you. Pressing your forehead to his, just inches from his lips, you look him in the eyes. You know this will make him melt. “We’re playing a game,” you whisper, trying to be quiet enough that Joel can’t hear, “and I’m being bad. So punish me.” 

Eyes softening, he nods and leans in to kiss you. As always, you turn your away, letting Miles’ lips land on your cheek. He kisses your cheek and makes his way down your neck. You’re facing Joel whose jaw is tight as he stares at you. The feeling Miles’ lips on the column of your throat fades away as you focus on Joel, on how you want his lips on your neck instead. Miles’ cock suddenly pistoning in and out of you breaks your trance, snatching a gasp out of your throat. You turn to face him and as you do, a sharp blow lands on your cheek, eliciting a yelp from you that eventually melts into a moan. It’s hard. Much more so than you expected, but it makes you clench around him. 

“Harder,” Joel encourages him. “Slut like her can take it.” 

Obliging, Miles hits you harder and picks up the pace, fucking deep into you. Your eyes roll back a bit, settling into the pleasure that you’ve been craving. It comes out shaky, but you manage to say, “Finally, just like that. Keep fucking me like that.” 

“I’m kind of tired of hearing you talk,” Miles growls. 

“Shut her up then,” Joel says.

You laugh between moans. “Yeah, shut me up then,” you taunt. “I’d like to see tha—”

Miles’ hand around your throat cuts you off, making you gag. He’s still thrusting into you, deep and fast, while your tongue sticks out pathetically. Looking down, his eyes are glued to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. Maybe he doesn’t notice it, but Miles puts more of his weight on his arm, crushing your windpipe. Panic hits you and your eyes widen, genuinely unable to breathe. Reaching out, you smack Joel’s arm and grab onto his hand, but he’s already yanking Miles off of you by his wrist. Why did you reach for Joel? You could’ve easily tapped Miles on the arm. He would’ve stopped. But no, you sought out Joel. 

“Jesus Christ, Blondie,” Joel snaps, “are you trying to crush her throat? You’re gonna kill her, you dumb ass.” 

You sit up on your elbows to catch your breath, and Miles stills inside of you, burying his cock in your pussy. He rubs his thumb on your cheek tenderly and begins to apologize profusely. You’re, more or less, ignoring him because all you can think about is Joel’s hand still holding yours. When you look over at him, it’s like he realizes it, too. Joel pulls away gruffly. 

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Miles says sincerely, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“She doesn’t like that,” Joel grumbles. “Hates being called honey.” 

That wasn’t something you told Joel. On a run, you told Adam that you hate being called honey unless it’s by a woman over the age of seventy. You guess Joel was listening, and it makes your stomach flutter that he remembers. God, you hate the way he can always get to you.

“It’s fine,” you say, rubbing up and down Miles’ bicep. “Lie down. I want to be on top.” 

Without hesitation, Miles switches positions with you. You don’t have to look to know Miles’ eagerness and obedience made Joel roll his eyes. Taking Miles’ cock in your hand, you run it over your dripping slit as you straddle him. This earns a low groan from him and you bite your lip, satisfied with the teasing.

“Down,” Miles commands. When you don’t move, he grabs you by your hips, digging his nails into your plush flesh, and drags you down onto his cock with force. “Are you fucking listening or are you just incapable of following instructions? I told you down.” 

It’s like the words were coming straight out of Joel’s mouth, making you whimper. Yeah, it would sound better if he had said it, but Miles is trying. You can appreciate that. You press your hands to Miles’ chest and grind down on his cock. Joel sucks in a deep breath.

“Look who’s finally catching on,” Joel says to Miles who glances over at him, almost smiling. He looks like a teenage boy getting his father’s approval for the first time. “But c’mon, you gotta be meaner than that or she won’t come.”

Miles’ eyes scan Joel, from the pinch of his graying brows to his covered bulge, tightly concealed by his jeans. You catch the way he’s looking at Joel like he’s something to eat. After he’s done gawking, which has gone unnoticed by Joel since he’s too preoccupied with staring at your tits, Miles licks his lips and nods. Then, with a smack to your ass, he starts fucking up into you. The new angle is just what you need to hit that sweet spot deep inside of your cunt. Shameless moans tumble from your lips as Miles reaches a hand up to play with your hard nipples, pinching and tugging in a way he never has before. You suck in a sharp breath with your teeth grit, overwhelmed with pleasure and a twinge of pain. 

“You see how he’s looking at you?” Miles asks, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at Joel. With heavy eyelids and a hand resting over his clothed, erect cock, Joel looks like he’s bursting with desire. Yet he is entirely still. “A slut like you likes being watched, don’t you?” 

“Mhm,” you affirm with a whimper, eyes still locked on Joel. “F-Fuck, I like it. I really fucking like it.”

Clenching around Miles, you’re approaching the edge, closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust. When Joel curses under his breath while he watches your tits bounce, you think you’re going to come right there. It’s confusing to you that he’s not playing with himself. He’s just letting his hand rest on his erection. It’s not like he’s trying to hide it, not that he could, but like he needs some sort of pressure on his cock or he’ll lose his mind. He’s holding back.

“Fuck, Joel,” Miles rasps. “She’s really fucking—shit—tight. Squeezing me really tight.”

“You wanna be a good girl and come for me—him?” You catch Joel’s slip up and it only sends you closer to your orgasm. All you can manage is a nod as expletives fall from your lips. “Then stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me and focus.”

“Or what?” you shoot back. 

“Or I’ll walk out right now. You want me to leave?” Joel threatens and you shake your head rapidly. “Didn’t think so. Fuck her harder, kid.” 

“Yes, sir,” Miles mumbles. 

At first you think he’s being sarcastic, maybe there’s a hint of annoyance, but you saw how he was looking at Joel earlier. Thinking about it makes you throb. Miles feels this and groans, kneading a handful of your ass. Your eyes meet Miles’ and you can see the sweat shine on his forehead, dampening his hair. Despite his inability to fuck you like Joel, he isn’t Joel after all, he’s a good enough lay and a nice guy. You decide you should probably stop seeing him after this. For his own sake. 

Maybe he can sense that you’re going to cut things off, or maybe it’s just that he can feel your cunt spasming around him, but Miles slams into you with such force you fall forward. His arm snakes around you to keep you close to him. The way he’s holding you stops you from glancing over at Joel which is probably a good thing. It’ll make it easier to avoid saying his name as you come. 

“You look good like this,” Miles all but whispers. “Being a dirty whore, being my good girl.” 

Miles says the right thing, hits the right spot, and you sit back, pressing your palms flat against his chest. “Maybe not yours,” you say as your orgasm hits you. Mouth hanging open, you make a strangled sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan. You rock back and forth to ride out your climax as you spasm around him, eyes tightly shut. Beneath you, you feel Miles’ hips stutter and he moans your name. 

“Pull out,” Joel demands. “Not your cunt to come in.”

Warm, sticky cum shoots onto Miles’ toned abs. He pulled out just in time and a good thing he did. Considering Joel’s tone, he probably would’ve killed him if he came inside of you. You roll off of him, flopping between Miles and Joel. Sweaty and tired, you throw your arms over your eyes to block out the light filtering in from the streetlight. It’s stopped flickering.

“You should head out,” you say to no one in particular. “It’s late. Busy day tomorrow.”

That’s bullshit. 

“Yeah, of course,” Miles says softly, still catching his breath. He leans over and kisses your shoulder before getting up. 

Joel doesn’t move. 

Eyes still covered, you listen to Miles get dressed. Shucking on his pants. Closing his zipper. Putting his shoes on. Eventually, the front door shuts. 

“Guy’s a fucking moron,” Joel grumbles. 

Uncovering your eyes, you turn your head to look at him. He’s flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, and his arms are behind his head. Joel’s jaw is clenched. Everything about him is stiff, uncomfortable. It must rub off on you because you tense up. Maybe you’re mirroring him, or maybe you’re just realizing how humiliating it is that he’s completely clothed and you’re still naked 

“He’s nice,” you say. 

“He doesn’t know how to fuck you.”

“Well,” you inhale, “you just taught him. So.”

“Okay,” Joel exhales, “but he doesn’t just know what you want.”

“And you do?” Your voice is suddenly small, meek. 

Joel turns his head and holds eye contact with you. Time begins to slow down as the two of you stare. Suddenly, you’re in the motel, covered in blood and sitting on the floor. There’s that same hint of longing behind his otherwise dark eyes. You don’t dare to move, don’t dare to ruin whatever’s happening. 

“I…” Joel begins, then he snaps his mouth shut. The room would be silent if it weren’t for the blood thundering in your ears. Finally, Joel’s voice cuts through. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” 

It’s the easiest thing to say.

Tag list: @cuntyhunty22 @joelsicle @emmasveinyahhdih @yslgreen @glitterspark @ghostwritesthings @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg @sohaaa6 @millercontracting

[ceyanabbiolo]

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [25]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: mentions of drinking & angst

Chapter 25: I'd Burn Down the World For Her

── .✦ CHRISTOPHER

June.

It rolled around fast. Graduation was only a month away now—26 days to be exact. Today was the 3rd, and everything felt like it was moving in fast-forward.

As usual, I was at practice.

And not to sound like a complete douche, but the more time I spent on the court with these guys, the more I realized something I probably already knew deep down: I was too good for this team.

Not just in terms of skill, but focus.

Half of them treated practice like a joke. Late arrivals, sloppy drills, and inside jokes mid-play. It wasn’t even about ego—it was about discipline, and mine didn’t match theirs.

I didn’t come out here just to sweat. I came to sharpen. To win.

Basketball had always been that one thing that made sense. The rhythm, the structure, the clarity of it.

But lately…

Lately, I’ve been playing harder. Pushing faster and going longer.

And I knew damn well it wasn’t because of the game.

It was because of her.

Because when I was on the court, I didn’t have to think about Julianna. Didn’t have to see the way she looked at me now—guarded, closed off, like I’d become someone she couldn’t recognize.

Or worse—someone she couldn’t trust.

So yeah, I played like hell.

Because off the court? I was a damn mess.

The mistake I made four weeks ago haunted me on a loop. That kiss... God, that kiss.  I knew I shouldn’t have kissed her back. I shouldn’t have even gotten that close, shouldn’t have let my guard slip for even a second. But the second she leaned in, I was gone.

It had been four months. Four months since I broke her heart. Four months since I made the worst decision of my life.

I tried everything to distract myself, with parties and late nights at random bars with the team. Louder crowds, louder music. Girls everywhere, throwing themselves at me, hoping for a night I couldn’t give them. 

But I couldn’t touch them. I didn’t want to.

It was like my body rejected them. Every time some girl put a hand on my chest or leaned in too close, I’d flinch, or politely step back, make up some excuse. It wasn’t even about guilt. It was physical.

Because the only woman I wanted was still close enough to look at—but so damn far from me it felt impossible.

Jules...

I’d been dreaming about her constantly.

 Some nights, she was yelling at me. Some nights, she was walking away. And some nights…

Some nights were worse.

Last night, I dreamt we were in bed. Both of us are bare. Her legs tangled with mine, her laugh soft and breathy as she fed me fucking grapes—her eyes full of love like nothing had ever gone wrong between us. Like she still trusted me. Still wanted me. 

I woke up hard, dazed, and pathetically alone, lying in the dark like an idiot, staring at the ceiling.

Because in real life? Jules wouldn’t feed me grapes.

She’d probably shove them down my throat and make sure I choked on them.

And I’d probably let her.

I deserved it.

The locker room shower pounded against my skin, hot water cascading down my back—but I barely felt it. I was so far removed from reality, so locked in my own head, that when the stream hit my shoulders, I actually flinched. Like it had snapped me out of something, and forgotten where I was

I stood there under the spray for way too long, hands braced against the wall, steam rising around me like a fog I couldn’t walk out of. My muscles ached—not from the game, but from the weight I’d been carrying for months.

When I finally shut the water off, everything felt heavier.

I dried off quickly and walked toward my locker, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing above me. I grabbed my towel tighter around my waist, pulled open the metal door, and shoved everything inside my duffel—shoes, jersey, headphones. I moved fast, like if I lingered too long, I’d fall apart right here, surrounded by sweaty socks and bad body spray.

“Yo, Sturniolo.”

I turned my head slightly, just enough to acknowledge him. Tucker stood a few feet away, still shirtless, towel slung low on his hips like he owned the damn place. His hair was still damp, and he was wearing that cocky half-smirk he always had when he thought he was about to start something.

“What,” I muttered, not in the mood. My voice came out flat, sharp.

He stepped a little closer, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “You’ve been ignoring me on the court.”

I scoffed under my breath and slammed my locker shut. “I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Bullshit,” Tucker said, arms crossing over his chest. “You haven’t passed to me once in the last two scrimmages. You think I didn’t notice?”

I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, jaw tightening. “You’ve never been in my lane to pass.”

That wiped the smirk off his face for a second. “Nah,” he said, stepping forward, his tone shifting. “You’re mad.”

I stopped walking. “Mad?” I repeated, turning slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of my eye.

“Yeah,” Tucker said, eyes narrowing. “About Jules. About me and her.”

Silence. Just for a beat.

Then I turned the rest of the way and looked him dead in the eye, slow and calm. And I smirked.

Not the friendly kind. The kind that had bite.

“You think that’s what this is?” I asked, voice low. “Trust me, Tucker. If I were mad…” I stepped just a little closer, lowering my voice even more, “you’d know.”

His nostrils flared, like he wasn’t used to being challenged.

I tilted my head, keeping that same grin. “You’re not getting the ball because you’re just shit at playing. Not everything’s about Jules, man.” I paused, letting it sink in. “She made that clear when she dumped you.”

Tucker clenched his jaw, but didn’t say anything.

I gave him a pat on the shoulder as I passed, like I was proud of him for trying. “Tough luck, though. You’re still not getting the ball.”

And with that, I walked out, leaving him steaming in the locker room.

The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the noise from the hallway. I leaned against it for a second, my head tilted back, the quiet of my dorm suddenly too loud. My shoulders ached — not from the game, not from Tucker’s weak-ass defense — but from the weight sitting square on my chest.

I tossed my gym bag near the closet and sank onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

What the hell am I doing?

Jules' face kept flashing through my mind. Her eyes when she sat down earlier — watery, guarded, like she was trying not to cry in front of everyone. I’d seen her upset before, but this was different. She didn’t look hurt. She looked… done. Like I’d pushed her one step too far.

And maybe I had.

I dragged a hand over my face, then stared blankly at the floor.

Screw my fucking dad. 

But what if I really meant it — if I really meant screw the family and all of it — then what? Walk away from the legacy, the money, the name? Give it all up for her?

For Jules. 

She didn’t ask for any of this. And yet here I was, sitting in this high-rise dorm, thinking about torching my whole life for the girl I’d been too much of a coward to claim.

I leaned back, hands laced behind my head, staring up at the ceiling like it had answers.

Was I really about to throw it all away for her?

God, I felt insane even thinking it. Who does that? Who risks everything for someone?

Someone who makes you feel like home, that’s who.

I sat up, my pulse quickening, the room suddenly too still.

What if I stopped being scared of all of it — the expectations, the name, the plan that was carved out for me since I was a kid? What if, just for once, I chose something for myself?

Chose her.

Start fresh. 

But then I'd have nothing to offer her, nothing to give her, except myself. But in this moment, I felt like I could do it. Work my ass off, focus, and I'd make it on my own.

I stood slowly, heart pounding as I stared at my phone. 

I didn’t know if she’d listen. I didn’t know if I could even fix it. But I was starting to think I’d rather lose everything… than lose her forever.

So I picked up my phone, opened my dad's contact, and typed out a message. 

“I’m coming home with Matt and Nick tonight. I want to talk” 

And it was at that moment, I realized I was completely and utterly fucked. I would do anything for Julianna Defrancic. I wanted to feel every single thing with her, good and bad. I wanted to be with her forever, and the thought of that was better than anything I could ever lose.

If it were possible, I'd burn down the world for her, too.

── .✦ JULIANNA

“Eden, you seriously need to get your head straight.”

I leaned back in the patio chair, crossing one leg over the other as I sipped my iced mocha. The three of us—me, Nick, and Eden—were tucked into a corner of this charming café a little off-campus, the kind of spot that always smelled like fresh pastries and cinnamon.

Eden had been rambling for what felt like forever. Her tea sat untouched, slowly cooling while she spilled every detail about her fake relationship with Matt. Nick, on the other hand, had already inhaled his coffee and was now chewing on the edge of his straw like he was trying not to insert himself into the conversation.

Eden was talking about her parents again—how they liked Matt, how they thought he was fun, charming, and probably temporary. A phase. A shiny accessory to distract from the weight of their expectations.

“I still think it’s hilarious—and a little weird—that you two dated my brothers,” Nick said, raising an eyebrow.

“Fake dated,” Eden corrected, giving him a pointed look.

I hummed thoughtfully, playing with the condensation on my glass. “And I dated. Past tense.”

I threw a pointed glance at Nick, who immediately scrunched his nose like I’d just said something foul.

“Right,” he muttered, sitting back in his chair. “And how are you dealing with that… the breakup?”

I shrugged. “It’s been months, Nick. I’m fine. It’s whatever.”

“It’s not ‘whatever,’” Eden cut in gently, her voice soft but firm. “He was a big part of your junior year. And honestly… a big part of your life even before you two officially got together.”

I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump that had started to rise in my throat. She wasn’t wrong.

“You barely talk about him now,” she added.

“I know, it’s just…” I exhaled through my nose. “Whenever I do, it’s like everything I felt—everything I buried—just rushes up. My chest gets tight, and I can’t form a sentence without choking on it.”

There was a beat of silence before I continued. “Besides, I’m moving on. Maybe he was right. Maybe we weren’t compatible. And if that’s the case, then he did me a favor by ending things before it got too deep. Before I got more attached than I already was.”

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Just… don’t hate him, Jules.”

I blinked at him. “I don’t hate him, Nick.” My voice dropped. “But I can’t forget how he made me feel in the end. And you know he wasn’t always the kindest to me.”

Nick looked pained, jaw clenched as he tried to find the right words. “He’s not perfect. But… it’s been really hard for him too.”

My eyebrows rose slightly. “Hard? He’s the one who ended it.”

“I know,” Nick said quietly, eyes flicking down to the table. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t care. He just… he doesn’t always know how to show it. And after everything with his family, and the pressure from the company…”

I shook my head. “I get it, Nick. I really do. I know he’s your brother and you’re just trying to be loyal to both of us. But at some point, he had to choose how to treat me. And when the time came he changed his mind.”

Nick opened his mouth to say something, but Eden gave him a slight shake of her head, like she was silently telling him not now.

The conversation hung in the air like thick fog, pressing down on all of us.

Then I whispered, mostly to myself, “I loved him, Nick. I really did. But love shouldn’t make you feel small.”

Nick shifted in his seat, his knee bouncing restlessly. “He didn’t have a choice.”

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Eden blinked, straightening beside me. “What do you mean he didn’t have a choice?” she echoed, her brows drawing together.

Nick opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then closed it again. He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek, clearly wrestling with himself.

“Nick,” I pressed, my voice quieter this time. “What aren’t you saying?”

He raked a hand through his hair, sighing. “Chris would kill me if I told you, Jules.”

My heart skipped. “Told me what?”

Nick looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw it—the hesitation, the guilt, the weight of knowing something I didn’t. “It’s not my place,” he muttered.

Eden leaned in, her eyes sharp. “Nick, if there’s something we don’t know, and it has to do with why he ended things—”

“He didn’t want to,” Nick blurted, then immediately cursed under his breath and looked around the room like he was afraid Chris would somehow appear.

I stared at him. “What?”

Nick shook his head. “Forget I said that. Please, Jules. Don’t ask me to go further. He’ll be pissed.”

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly, narrowing my eyes. Even Eden paused mid-sip, her gaze sharp.

Nick let out a breath and looked away. “Chris would kill me if I told you, Jules.”

My stomach twisted. “Told me what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at his empty coffee cup like it held all the answers he didn’t want to give.

“Nick,” I said again, firmer. “What are you not saying?”

“I hate lying to you,” he blurted out, almost pained. “I hate keeping things from you, Jules. But this isn’t mine to tell.”

He looked tormented, his leg bouncing under the table. Then, like he couldn’t carry it anymore, he looked right at me. “Screw it.”

Eden leaned in. “Nick…”

“Its just…” He nodded slowly, then ran his hand down his face. “Our dad… he told Chris to break up with you.”

My heart dropped.

“What?”

Nick looked guilty. “He said if Chris didn’t end things, he’d lose everything. His trust fund. His position at the company. His spot in the will. Everything.”

Eden’s eyes widened, but she stayed silent, glancing over at me.

I blinked, trying to process. “You’re saying… your dad forced him?”

Nick nodded. “It wasn’t just pressure. He threatened him, Jules. Said loving you made him weak, a liability. And if he didn’t cut things off with you, he’d destroy him financially and publicly.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“That night he ended it,” Nick added quietly, “he came home completely wrecked. It wasn’t what he wanted. It was what he had to do.”

I blinked, stunned by the weight of what Nick had just admitted. The air around us felt thick, almost like time had paused to make space for the truth.

Nick ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “The night of the gala… after you guys broke up… we couldn’t find Chris for hours.”

I said nothing, my throat suddenly dry.

“We tracked his phone and found him at some random bar, like—some dive out in the middle of nowhere. He was…” Nick exhaled shakily, his voice cracking. “Drunk out of his fucking mind. Like, blackout drunk. We had to carry him out. I’d never seen him like that.”

The image struck me like a punch to the stomach. Chris, proud and always put-together, slumped in some bar with no one but liquor to hold him.

I stared at Nick. “And?”

Nick hesitated again.

“Nick,” I said softly, “please. Just tell me.”

He stopped pacing. His gaze met mine, full of guilt.

“For the past few months…” he trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” I pressed, panic rising in my chest. “What about the past few months?”

He looked like he was swallowing broken glass. Then, he let out a breath and said it.

“He’s depressed, Jules. Really depressed. He’s not okay.”

My heart thudded. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. “What do you mean… not okay?”

Nick sat down finally, elbows on his knees, hands laced together. “He doesn’t sleep. Barely eats. He pretends around us, but it’s like… his light’s just gone. We’ve been trying to get him to talk, to open up. But he won’t. He just keeps burying himself in work and isolating. And every time someone brings you up—he just shuts down.”

My chest ached. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I had told myself that if he had let me go so easily, it was because he didn’t care.

I felt the sting of tears and quickly blinked them back.

“I thought he didn’t love me,” I whispered.

Nick looked up, eyes rimmed red. “He never stopped.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, voice wavering. “But he didn’t even tell me any of that. He just broke up with me and disappeared. I asked him so many times, Nick. I begged him to just explain—something, anything—and he gave me nothing.” My throat burned, and I hated that my voice cracked at the end.

Nick didn’t look me in the eye. He was staring at the floor now, his fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter until his knuckles turned pale. “That’s his problem,” he muttered. “He does that. Keeps it all in like it’ll protect everyone.”

“But it doesn’t!” I snapped. “It hurts more. I could’ve handled it—”

“I know,” Nick said quickly, and for once, his tone wasn’t defensive. He looked at me then, eyes raw. “I told him that too. He just kept saying it wouldn’t change anything. That our dad’s words were final.”

I blinked, trying to process. “So… what? He thought just cutting me off would make it easier for me?”

Nick exhaled, a shaky breath that sounded like he’d been holding it in. 

“I think he didn’t want to put that weight on you. The pressure, the guilt, the… mess of it all. What was the point in telling you our dad threatened to ruin his entire future if he didn’t let you go? Everything he’s worked for was on the line.” Nick figeted with his cup. “He figured telling you wouldn’t undo any of that. So he made the call and took the hit alone.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“He didn’t want you to feel like staying with him would be hurting him. Or like your love was something he had to choose over the life our father built for him.”

My heart thudded painfully. “But I would’ve, Nick. I would’ve chosen him every time.”

There was some silence. Eden seemed to be just as dazed as I was. 

Nick let out a long breath and rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m leaving tonight,” he muttered. 

I blinked, confused. “Leaving?”

He nodded and glanced toward Eden. She was sitting on the edge of the cahir, quiet but clearly bracing herself for something. When their eyes met, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I’m sure Matt told you,” Nick said to her. “About the trip.”

Eden nodded again, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her sleeve.

Nick looked back at me. “We’re going away for a bit. Just a short trip with some friends—kind of a reset. Me, matt and some friends back home,” I tried to process that, but before I could ask, he added, “Chris refused to come.”

I looked up. 

“He said he had stuff to handle, but we all know that’s bullshit,” Nick muttered, shaking his head. “He’s gonna be stuck on campus or wherever he hides when he’s spiraling. Alone.”

“Alone?” I repeated, frowning.

Nick looked me straight in the eyes. “Yeah. Which is exactly what he shouldn’t be.”

There was a silence that settled in the room like heavy fog. My brain was still trying to piece everything together—everything he had just told me, everything Chris had never said.

and I hated knowing that.

It made me feel powerless, like there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t just show up and ask him about it—Nick would lose it, and besides, like he said, what good would it do me to know? 

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[ a/n: double post tonight!! Sorry if this chapter wasn't the most interesting :) But that just means the REAL shit is starting again. Like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt

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[seaglassmelody]

Last Line Written/A Word With Friends Catching up pt. 2

Well the last line I wrote was...this entire little piece so we're combining these for the moment!

Thank you for the tags @littlemissgeek8, @davrinsleftpectoral, @notyourmamasdeerbat, @chaosherald and @nyx-de-riva! EDIT: Adding in @biowaredisasterbisexual <3

This is for A Word With Friends from last week, 7/28. Thanks as always to @hedwigoprah for the game and the tag!

Tagging @tkwritesdumbassassins, @blackwall-my-tiny-husband and @antivan-sprig for Last Line Written if y'all wanna share and haven't yet!

The word is: Prodigious

Adjective • Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge. • extraordinarily exciting or amazing • ominous, portentous

So in writing that letter earlier today, I got in the headspace of some of Sabi's backstory OCs (Alfonse, Miriam and Bernhardt) and got really attached soooo a scene with them under the cut!

Sabriel left a few classmates back home in the Necropolis. None of them (including her!) seem to have realized how important of a friendship they had until she was gone.

--

…I'm very appreciative for your concern but you have my word that everything is fine. I've been put in contact with some individuals of truly inspiring talents and they are kind enough to listen to my plans.

Wishing you all well. Please tell Miri not to cry, I really am all right.

All my best,

Sabriel Ingellvar

~~

Alfonse slowly lowered Sabriel's letter to the table with a deep sigh.

"Am I the only one who feels like the world's most prodigious asshole right now?"

Bernhardt and Miriam glanced up from their books. They had gathered in a room along the edge of the Memorial Gardens— one that somehow was a perfect set up for three people who needed to work.

"I mean…you are usually an asshole—" Bernhardt began, before Alfonse kicked him viciously under the table. "Ow!"

Miriam rolled her eyes. "Honestly Bernie, he doesn't kick that hard."

"He's got his greaves on!"

"Then maybe you should be wearing yours too." She stuck her tongue out at him, before turning to Alfonse. "What's wrong, Alfie?"

He gestured to the letter on the table. "It's Sabriel. Professor Volkarin's charge— Manfred, y'know, the skeleton with Curiosity in it? He brought a letter from them and it's…" He sighed again, even deeper this time. "It's like they're trying to push us away."

"Us?"

"Yes, Bern, us. I mentioned both of you and all they had to say was "I'm fine, tell them not to worry, everything is good"." Alfonse glanced between his friends. "But we know that's not true. The Venatori are still running around here, and we know things are bad in Antiva and Tevinter."

Miriam sighed gustily. "Alfie, have you ever considered that maybe Sabi doesn't want to worry us?"

"That's exactly the problem, Miri!" He threw his hands in the air dramatically. "That's exactly what she's doing and it…"

"It's upsetting you." Bernhardt said matter-of-factly.

"YES. It is! It's frustrating the hell out of me!" He stood up, shoving his chair back with a loud scrape across the stone floor. "She didn't ask us for help when she did…whatever she did during the Banners. She didn't ask us for any help with spirits or the Fade—"

"We all know Professor Volkarin is much more knowledgable than we are—" Berhardt started.

"She didn't even ask us to introduce her!" Alfonse continued his tirade, pacing the floor of the small study room. "We've been no help to her ever at all!"

Miriam drooped in her seat. "Now that you mention it, she didn't even let me proofread her thesis…"

Bernhardt scoffed. "That's because your grasp of grammar is intermediate at best."

Miriam threw a pen nib at him.

"Hey!" He swatted it away, looking over his clothes to make sure the nib didn't have any ink on it. Satisfied he was stain-free, he sat up a little straighter and turned back to Alfonse. "So what, you're mad at them?"

Alfonse stopped pacing, running a hand through his hair. "I'm mad at myself. We're shit friends, Bern. And it took Sabriel getting exiled to realize it."

Bernhardt and Miriam fell silent at that. The room took on a gloomy cast, as if the Necropolis was adjusting the lighting to match their mood.

"She always told us she was okay…Why would we have ever doubted her?" Miriam's voice was small, like she was about to cry.

"It's not like we can guess what they were thinking." Bernhardt crossed his arms stubbornly.

Alfonse sank back into his chair. "We…could have reached out more though. Helped even when we weren't asked. That's what she always used to do."

"We got too used to relying on her," Miriam agreed, sniffling now, "And didn't stop to ask if we were as reliable to her."

Bernhardt shrugged. "It's not like we can go back and fix it. And getting exiled with her wouldn't necessarily have helped in the end. We might have even messed up her plans. We still could."

"Great, thanks for the absolutely incredible pep talk, Bern."

"I'm not done, Al," Bernhardt huffed, "Honestly, you two are such downers. We just have to prove to her that she can count on us now. We might not be Fade experts or monster hunting Wardens or the Demon of Vyrantium but we're Watchers dammit. That group of hers didn't reach out to us for nothing."

Miriam slapped her hands on the tabletop. "Yeah! We'll kick those Venatori out of the halls and talk to the spirits and find out all sorts of information for her! Then Sabi will see!"

Alfonse sighed quietly. "Let's start with making sure Lady Myrna knows we're ready and able to help out. And maybe we'll run into Sabriel and their friends next time they come through."

The other two nodded, satisfied with this plan of action.

There was a beat of silence, before Miriam fixed her bright eyes on Bernhardt's face. "Now, what did you say about the Demon of Vyrantium?"

"Oh Maker, how did you of all people miss the rumors?"

[hinamie]

mentor

[shaissa]

seeing all the early twenty somethings interacting this week AND all the liv mentions* is making me miss her so much more </3 i keep thinking about how she’d fit into this current group of people her age.

like i am Not entirely caught up on 2019-2022 but from what i have heard they really dropped the livgabby relationship which is unfortunate. the wiki says liv is gabby’s son’s godmother though?!! that’s adorable <3

and of course liv and sarah are both dinglesugdens so it would be interesting to see them interacting as adults. (i always thought the age difference between them was bigger than it is. but i mean they both dated jacob, they’re in the same age group.)

and kammy is so like bubbly sunshine personified. he reminds me of gerry honestly </3 and i always loved liv and gerry’s dynamic. bet liv and kammy would play off each other well.

i have no idea if they would have kept vinny and liv together the past three years or not. i mean would they have even gotten married if they weren’t planning to kill liv off later that year idk :((

regardless, just wish she was alive and in the village right now. missing her forever.

*mind you i don’t particularly like the WAY they’re talking about liv or her asexuality but it IS nice to hear her name so often lately. both with robron and with this vinny storyline

[dafpork]

dafpork is like a modern day speakeasy to me because everyone comes in like it’s forbidden but since it’s the modern day it’s perfectly normal. Little secret club

LMAO YES!!! THIS IS A REALLY GOOD ANALOGY.. AND SEE IT'S SO FUNNY because i'm like I DON'T WANT IT TO BE FORBIDDEN... i'm such an accidental hypocrite in that regard because i'm like "i want more people to talk about them i want people to be loud and proud it makes me sad to hear that people might have been initially embarrassed to ship them there's so much to love :(((( anyway here's my SHITTY ART of these people i HATE i'm so EMBARRASSED thanks for putting up with me in my SHAME CORNER UGH i'm so EMBARRASSED they're so EMBARRASSING i SUCK they SUCK it all SUCKS" LOL and i do mean it in a joking manner... mostly... but i'm kind of now at the point where i'm like. Okay well you're going to have to put in some more legwork if you want people to talk about them. (but, again, just the fact that people talk about and support them enough is so great! it's so weird and wonderful to me that people are calling it on dafpork on platforms other than this one, people who may not know i exist... it's cool hearing a term you and your friend came up with in a private discord be used, it shows how much growth there HAS been since there really used to be nothing!)

a dafpork speakeasy sounds so cool though oh my god can you imagine Porky and Daffy themed cocktails...............

COME JOIN US AT THE DAFPORK SPEAKEASY. which, you are not supposed to advertise that a speakeasy is a speakeasy. but it's subversive. like Daffy. or something. this is your sign to play pig and duck with us. yes you

[winchestersheaven]

me: i’m gonna read Rodney McKay fics

fandom: we have lots of McShep

me: McShep is good, i like that ship

me: so, McShep fics with Rodney feels, please

fandom: sure thing, lots of Rodney feels here 😇

fandom: *bombards me with unexpected John feels*

me: hey, uh. why is my heart all fucked up?

[lyxchen]

Watching Yellowjackets and I'm realizing that a lot of things these women do is what would happen if I listened to my intrusive thoughts. Especially since I sometimes get intrusive thoughts related to superstition. And I just think. If I allowed myself to believe that somebody being chosen by nature to die was a Thing and was also related to then something good happening as a "reward"... that would be really bad. And I'm not sure if I like how this show portrays these kind of things. I'm not sure if it wants me to believe that this is real, that in this show's universe nature works like that. Or if it's trying to tell me that all of these people have serious mental health problems. And like it hints at it with Lottie going to therapy, taking medication to help with her hallucinations (and the medication working) and stuff. But even in the present, in a time that is a lot more aware of mental health and trauma it's still not really talked about except for Lottie kinda negatively talking about being in a psych ward. And they might all be unaware of this, of the fact that they are deeply traumatized and have a lot of underlying and untreated mental health issues. But the show doesn't even really convey that to the viewers. Heck, every time something big or spiritual happens to these people especially in the woods, they're on drugs. Lottie thinks Travis can connect to "it" but to do that Travis has to be on drugs. Like that is quite literally what drugs will do to you. Make you believe stuff that isn't real. And the show just. Doesn't really talk about it and I don't know how to feel about that

[ame-to-ame]

Life is weird as arospec asexual bc there's no good way to use words to describe what I feel and my experience that properly conveys it to allosexual alloromantic people

Even if I use vocabulary meant for this there's no way to grasp what it truly feels like, what the lived experience is like for me, because the allosexual doesn't experience it doesn't understand it

And so it's like trying to convey colors to someone with a different perception of color. They experience a reality different to mine. And maybe perception and sensation is the wrong allegory to use, even. Maybe the stimuli we experience is different in the first place. Maybe the sensation is different. But perception is definitely different. And it's hard to tell at which point do things start to differ.

But either way it's hard and I find it increasingly hard to explain myself or want to explain myself. It's so much easier to adopt that language and that culture aside from the gaping feeling that it's not exactly what you're experiencing. I can co-opt the term crush but what I feel. I know. Is not romantic attraction. Maybe some elements are the same but it's definitely diverged somewhere. But is there really a point in explaining the differences or clarifying that it's different? As long as the final goal is achieved does it really matter? Why am I doing this again.

[henrenologist]

what is it about twitter that calls people to be so pointlessly, aggressively, publicly mean. just cruel all-around. strange and unusual

[vraska-theunseen]

aughhhh. aughhhhhjhhhh

[adore-gregor]

i'm back on tumblr (again)

[izzy-b-hands]

oh god the brain is just angry today isn't it. Fucking. cool. great. wonderful. exactly what I needed rn